Caught Up In The Light
by catsenberg
Summary: The Second Wizarding War is well behind them, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione are still piecing their lives back together. Hermione's life post-war is only about to get more complicated with the reappearance of an old friend.


Hermione sat tucked away near the window, a thick blanket over her shoulders and a worn book on her knees. She tuned out the rain and thunder, completely lost in the pages of the most recent addition to her personal library. Her fingers gently traced over the paper, carefully following each word and when the time came, turning the page with the utmost respect.

Books were treasures to her. Whole other worlds right there at her fingertips, all hers to care for. She had a respect for the written word that most would scoff at. It was something she never understood. Her love for books had been with her since birth. She couldn't even imagine life any other way.

She smiled to herself as she finished the story, closing the book and placing it down next to her. In times like these, she preferred stories that ended well. Hermione pulled the blanket tightly around herself and gazed out the window. She'd always found the rain to be quite calming, even when it was pouring as it had been for the last couple of hours.

A rough knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She nearly fell over herself, trying to get untangled from the blanket while rushing towards the door. Now that she lived alone, it wasn't often that she got visitors. She still talked to all of her old friends and saw them whenever possible, but they hardly came around her place and never without warning.

She pulled the door open slightly, sticking her head out of the crack. Hermione found herself looking at seemingly a wall of multi-colored yarn. She looked up quickly, her brown eyes meeting those a shade she hadn't seen in years. Her heart quickened and she drew in a sharp breath, sucking in her bottom lip. _He can't be here. It's been too long. _A million thoughts went running quickly through her head as she tried to process his presence.

Hermione flung her arms around his thin waist, burying her face into his chest. His sweater scratched against her skin but she didn't care. She let his warmth consume her, reveling in his familiar scent. He let out a throaty chuckle, his fiery hair falling into his eyes as he returned the embrace.

"'Ello, 'Mione." He chuckled again, running a hand over her mass of hair.

"Fred."

It was all she could get out. For the brightest witch of her age, she felt rather stupid in that moment. She couldn't think of a single coherent thing to say. Hermione pulled away, looking him over carefully. The last time she'd seen him was at St. Mungos after the war.

He'd been bloody and bruised, almost unrecognizable, but just barely alive. There was a time when they thought they would lose him, but he somehow pulled through. However, Hermione couldn't get the image of him lying in the hospital bed out her mind. It haunted her any time she dared to close her eyes. The man she had once thought to be nearly invincible, suddenly vulnerable and weak and not entirely there at all.

It wasn't something she could handle. She didn't know when he'd gotten out; Ron had never mentioned it when they would go for lunch or to check on Harry. Until that moment, he could've still been in that bed and she wouldn't have known. She'd stopped visiting the second time they almost lost him. Magic was remarkable but his injuries were extreme.

Now he stood before her, looking no different than before the war. His hair was longer than it had been in awhile, but other than that he seemed unchanged. His brown eyes still rang clear and warm and his lips curved in the same way, as if a smile was only ever a breath away. His lips, her eyes rested on them hungrily. It'd been so long since she'd felt his lips on hers.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts and regain her composure. A raspy giggle of disbelief slipped past her lips. She had spent so much time trying to move past him and the little they had had. She'd written off seeing him alive and well again, and while she hadn't ever quite dealt with it, it had become something she could push to the very back of her mind if she tried.

"Would you like to come in?" She asked tentatively, gesturing to her flat. She waited until he nodded to turn around and re-enter the comfort of her home. They walked over to the plump couch that sat in the middle of her living room. Hermione curled up on one end and Fred sat awkwardly on the other.

He seemed to just be watching her, mulling over something silently. He parted his lips to speak but the words seemed to escape him. Fred let his gaze wander around the small apartment, the oddly controlled clutter that filled the space.

"How, um, how long have you been out?" Hermione hated the silence suddenly. She just wanted to hear his voice, to know that he really was okay and that this wasn't some sick joke her mind was playing on her.

"A year." He replied casually, running his hand through his hair.

"Oh, I didn't know it'd been that…no one told-If I'd known I would have come…" She let the words fade out. A pang of guilt hit her, he'd been out a whole year and she hadn't even known. She had done nothing.

"I haven't really been able to do much. George has been babying me worse than mum." He cracked a soft smile, meeting her eyes. "It took a lot of convincing and perhaps a bit of trickery to even get them to let me come today."

"Why did you come?" She didn't mean for to sound harsh, but it _had_ been over a year. Her curiosity got the best of her. Hermione scooted closer to him on the couch, tilting her head to the side.

"I've missed you." He responded simply, reaching out and taking her hand in his own.

Their relationship had always been comprised of stolen moments, quick kisses and brushing hands. They'd steal away to the field behind the burrow or into an empty row in the library at school. It had always felt special, but both of them knew it was a bad idea. They knew that taking if further than those little moments would only hurt both of them in the end.

Sitting there now, Hermione realized it had always been more than that. Each kiss, each conversation, each hair he brushed out of her face, it all meant more than she'd allowed herself to admit.

"I've missed you too, more than you know." She replied breathily, trying to pack all of her emotion into the few words. Hermione moved even closer to him now. She was kneeling next to him on the couch, her knees against the outside of his thigh.

He moved his free hand to her cheek, cupping her face gently. The rough pads of his fingers felt safe against her skin, like they belonged there. She let her eyes go to his lips again, but something inside her stopped her from kissing him like her life depended on it. They needed to talk now, she knew that deep down.

"I thought I'd lost you." Hermione added softly, her voice hardly above a whisper. She averted her eyes, taking a sudden interest in the carpet. Fred pursed his lips, his eyebrows creasing together.

"What? Leave George and you? Never." He said lightly, giving her hand a squeeze and flashing his signature grin.

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand absentmindedly, feeling overwhelmingly sad because whether he liked it or not they _had_ almost lost him. He was so close to death, to leaving George and her. She felt another pang of guilt, like she didn't belong in that sentence. _George and you_, she couldn't even visit him in the hospital and she got to share an honor with his twin.

Hermione pulled her hands from his, instead using them to cup his face. She studied his features intently, memorizing every detail. The slope of his nose, the way his eyes pulled almost hazel in this light, his strong jawline, she carefully stored them all away in her memory.

Her right hand traveled into his hair, tangling itself in his ginger locks. She'd always loved when he'd wear his hair longer, but not too long. It reminded her of when they were at school.

Fred watched curiously as she studied him, her eyes roaming with such purpose. There was a sadness in her expression that he didn't quite understand. He was alive, he'd made it, everything was fine. He hooked his index finger under her chin, pulling her face towards his.

"Lighten up, love." He chuckled, his breath tickling her lips.


End file.
